Metalocalypse: Impending Doom

Chapter Four: Nathan

Today was not a good day for the singer of Dethklok. It had gone from shitty, to slightly better, to shittier, and then transformed into a pile of maggot infested shit.

Waking up with a migraine and a sense of impending doom had become the norm for Nathan, but it didn't make it any less annoying to deal with, especially when he didn't know what the reason for it was. So of course walking up to, and talking to Pickles that early in the afternoon with just barely a cup of the blackest and most brutal coffee down his throat, made him very much over the day already.

Ever since the issue of last year, it was becoming more and more difficult for Nathan to actually talk to the drummer. He honestly felt guilty for it, though his pride would never let him admit that part out loud. After all, they had been close for many years (something he also refused to admit aloud), and Pickles was going through a difficult time, so Nathan slowly turning his back on the other was just adding insult to injury.

Yet, Nathan couldn't help himself, and he wasn't sure why. Did he feel uncomfortable with Pickles being trans? Was he still shocked or possibly grossed out at the idea of his bandmate fucking William Murderface? Was Murderface's blatant disregard for Pickles's feelings just because he was a confused dildo, beginning to get on his nerves? Perhaps all three? Either way, when Nathan had stepped into the alcoholic's room and saw Pickles face down on his floor, he could feel a mix of frustration and something he had barely felt before the red-head's slow descent into madness- genuine concern.

"Uuuuuuuhhhhh, Pickles?" Nathan had found himself saying to get the drummer's attention, hoping the other man would actually stir awake, then watching with pity deep in his chest as Pickles had attempted to stand up on his own.

"Heyyy, dood. 'M fineee."

Pickles was not fine. They both knew this. Everyone knew this. Even some fans had started commenting about his strange, reclusive behavior and lack of enthusiasm whenever they did a concert within the last year. How long was this behavior going to last? Forever? Better question still, how long before someone snapped and said something that they would regret?

Not long at all, apparently.

"You really couldn't hold it together until after the meeting?"

"Dude, just get help, or somethin'."

"You were already barely funt-ctioning, before all this shit."

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Nathan was just trying to help. It was killing him to see the broken look in Pickles's eyes as he drank himself to death. It was so much worse than the normal version of the band drinking themselves into a stupor, because they weren't actively trying to kill themselves (usually). Now it seemed like Pickles was purposely playing a game of Russian Roulette, seeing how far he could take his body before it finally gave out on him.

Nathan was never good at helping, though, everyone knew that. He had a shitty way with words, an even shittier way of expressing feelings, and a shittily thin level of patience as the shit cherry on top of the shit cake. Shitty, shitty, shitty, that was his favorite word for the day. Everything was just fucking shit.

Of course the horror didn't end there. No, even after getting dropped to the ground which lowkey pissed him off even more, he had to ruin it further when Pickles tried to join the fun and Nathan used a poor choice in words. Nathan's hand bled now from punching the wall multiple times on the way to Charles's office.

He never claimed to be a connoisseur of the English language (in fact, he probably wouldn't even know how to spell or say that word). But damnit, he should've had at least some decency to mind what he said. Right? Nathan swallowed heavily. It wasn't up to Pickles to choose whether or not he got offended, because feelings couldn't be controlled like that. He would know, because he'd been trying to control his own for almost a year, and it unraveled quickly due to his own mistake.